


don't forget the area code.

by canniballistics



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drunk Dialing, M/M, Wrong number
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:32:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canniballistics/pseuds/canniballistics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper Potts has gone missing, and Steve's phone is blowing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	don't forget the area code.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starkly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkly/gifts).



> This was originally supposed to be something short and silly, based off a prompt I saw on tumblr!! I have no idea what happened here. Like, seriously. What the fuck. How did this happen where did I lose control of my life...

The first time he gets the phone call, at 2:17 in the afternoon when he's about to go for a jog, Steve ignores it. It's not a number he knows, the screen displaying just the words "Unknown Number" and a grey silhouette. People call wrong numbers all the time; it doesn't happen to him often, but he's learned by now to ignore them. So he silences his phone the way Bucky showed him how and goes on with his life. It isn't until that night, a few hours later, that he looks at his phone again and realizes that the caller had left a voicemail. It doesn't change the fact that he doesn't know the number, but he can't quite help the curiosity. So he plays it.

_"I really can't stand you, you- you know that? I can't- there's, there's, there's things you're allowed to and then you just you can't, okay, you--"_

Steve shuts it off there and promptly deletes the message. Not only a wrong number, but a drunk dial? _At two in the afternoon?_ It surprises him, but not as much as it really should; the phrase "liquid lunch" exists for a reason, after all. The most thought he spares for it is a roll of his eyes, maybe a bemused sigh, and then he turns out the light and goes to bed.

\---

The phone goes off again, at precisely 3:41 in the morning this time. It rouses him from a deep sleep, from dreams of fighting and explosions and the American flag, just as his voicemail picks up. Steve blinks owlishly at the screen before it registers that there's a message flashing at him from another unknown number. He groans and tosses the phone into the drawer of his nightstand before going back to sleep.

\---

Upon waking, the first thought in his mind is of that new voicemail. Morbid curiosity, he decides. It has to be. What are the chances of two wrong number calls in a row? Is it the same person, or a new caller? Same caller, he bets. So even before he gets out of bed, he reaches into the nightstand, grabs his phone, and listens. As he'd suspected, it's the same caller as before, the man slurring his words and stuttering every so often. His voice goes up and down, almost frenetic, though if Steve listens hard enough, he thinks he can pick up a hint of a tremor as he speaks.

 _"Okay, you caught me, I wasn't- I was just lying when I said I couldn't stand you. You're perfect, you're wonderful, you're- my entire life falls apart without you here to take care of things. C'mon. The- the house is a mess, DUM-E keeps whining for you, seriously, where'd you go? You're not mad at me, are you? What'd I do this time, c'mon, you-you know I'm hopeless at this, the whole- other people thing."_ And then there's silence for almost a minute. Steve frowns, checking to make sure that the recording is still playing before the voice picks back up. _"I- You're gonna make me say it, aren't you? Since when did you get into the whole corporal punishment thing? I..."_ It's quiet again, and then the message stops.

He doesn't delete the message this time. There's something kind of…pathetic, really, in the way the guy talks. Obviously drunk, stuttering and _definitely_ trembling this time, but. It's kind of sad that he has no idea that the other party had given him the wrong number. Sounds pretty desperate to meet with her again, too, and he's not sure which part is sadder. If it even _is_ a "her" he's trying to get in contact with at all. Steve taps the phone against his chin as he thinks, but the answer seems clear: next time he gets a call from the number, he'll let the poor guy know. On a whim, he adds the contact in his phone as "Drunk Dialer", then gets up to go for his morning run.

\---

The calls continue for the next few days, the phone always buzzing at the most inopportune moments when Steve can't pick up. Mr. Drunk Dialer is determined but has the worst timing, apparently. It almost gets him in trouble at work, the phone buzzing all the way through a staff meeting while his boss glares around the room. In all honesty, he can't help but feel kind of amused. Well, amused and maybe a little creepy. And before he realized it, he'd begun drawing out what he imagined his Drunk Dialer to look like. Hooded eyes, full lips. Probably usually either scowling or smirking, from the way he continues to complain and talk himself up in all his messages. Steve can't help feeling a little curious to the truth, wishing that either the guy would call while he's able to pick up or that he'd leave his number so that he could tell him what's been going on. It's wishful thinking, really, but he doesn't give up hope. He'll catch the call one of these days.

Oddly enough, it becomes a part of his routine. Miss a call, listen to the voicemail, and do another sketch. Steve no longer pays the calls any mind until one evening, this time while he's at a movie with Bucky and Natasha. Again, he misses it, having turned his phone off while the opening cards were flashing on the screen, until they're walking out of the theater and Bucky starts ribbing him about _actually_ turning his phone off.

"You know you don't have to turn it off all the way, right? As long as the thing is silent and you're not whipping it out every five minutes, no one cares."

"I know," Steve replies, "I just prefer it this way." The opening animation spins across his screen, and he almost misses the notification as he reaches to put the phone back in his pocket, would have if his phone hadn't vibrated with it. "Again, huh," he murmurs quietly, and plays the message.

Natasha looks at Bucky, an eyebrow raised curiously. "Again? Stalker, or someone else? Don't tell me he actually made a friend other than you and me."

Bucky just shakes his head, and Steve has to sigh. They're talking over the recording. "Nah, he's been the victim of a…a scam, sort of. Looks like some guy had a one night stand and got Steve's number instead of her real one. Guy's been calling him and leaving him drunken messages for the last few days now."

Steve pulls the phone away from his ear, frowning at the both of them. "Hey, I've got plenty of friends other than you two clowns. Can't help it if I feel sorry for the guy, can I?"

"Creepy," is Bucky's only response. Steve just shakes his head and grins, replaying the message.

 _"This- you're doing this because I didn't say it, aren't you? You are- you're such a slave driver, seriously, now I know why everything works better with you in charge. Everything's falling apart, y'know. It's too much. Can't do it. That's what you're supposed to be here for. Just come back, okay?"_ There's a deep breath, like the man on the other end of the line is steeling himself. _"Fine. I can't live without you. You complete me. There, I said it, okay? Are you happy? I said it, now you have to come home, that's the deal, that's the way things work, so- so just come back already. God, listen to me, I sound like some mooning teenager, I thought I was over that years ago-"_

It cuts off there, so abruptly that Steve keeps listening for a few more seconds before he realizes that the man hung up. He looks at the screen, pursing his lips for just a second before glancing up to see Bucky and Natasha staring at him.

"Well?" Natasha nods at his phone. "What did he say?"

There's a little frown as Steve taps the device against his other hand, thinking. "Something about needing her and not being able to live without her. Maybe he's more serious about this girl than we thought? I should probably tell him, the next time he calls. I've been meaning to, but I just keep missing them."

Bucky snatches the phone out of his hands, scrolling through the messages and whistling softly. "Seriously, Steve? He's called you this many times, and you _haven't_ considered calling our techs or anything?"

"What am I supposed to say, Bucky? That this guy keeps calling me and his girlfriend gave him the wrong number? They can't do much with just a bunch of messages, his number isn't attached and he's never given his own name. Besides, it's not like it's a priority. He's obviously mooning over this woman; I hate to be the bearer of bad news." He shoves the phone back into his pocket and sighs. He's got a point, of course, and somehow, that makes it even worse; if _Bucky's_ is the more sensible solution, Steve knows he's got a problem. "Next time he calls, if I catch it, I'll let him know, okay? Should solve everything."

"Would you look at that," Natasha says with a teasing smirk, bumping her shoulder into Bucky's as she motions at Steve. "I think he's might have a crush. Our little boy's all grown up."

"I'm pretty sure you don't get to call me 'little boy', considering that I'm taller than both of you," Steve ribs, unconsciously standing just a little bit straighter as he grins.

She nods in response. "Maybe, but I could take both of you in a fight. I'm pretty sure that means I can call you anything I want. Now, are we getting some food or not? I'm starving."

Both of them watch her walk away, her back straight and hair tucked behind an ear. Bucky shrugs just a little. "Well. Can't really deny that, can we?"

"No sir, we cannot," Steve replies. They share a look between the two of them before they both start laughing, finally following after her.

\---

Both Bucky's and Natasha's words stick in his head for the next few hours, even after they've gone all their separate ways for the night. A crush? _Really_? It's a cringe-worthy thought, though it's true he hasn't seen anyone for a long while. He has to wonder if Bucky might have told Natasha about Peggy, how she joined the Royal Air Force in Britain and he enlisted with the US Army. They hadn't spoken since then, though he'd tried to find her afterward. He's fairly certain he doesn't have a crush, especially not on a guy who's so obsessed with finding whosever number he thinks he has.

When he gets back to his apartment, Steve spends a good 40 minutes playing with his phone, listening for any identifying clues in the guy's voicemails and trying to figure out if there's a way to pull up his number. It's a new phone, so the blame for not knowing how to use it fully can't all be placed on him, at least; truthfully, Steve had been fine with his "senior" flip phone and wasn't sure why he'd let Bucky convince him to buy a new one. It had been a small cellphone with enlarged numbers on the keypad and screen, supposedly to assist the elderly or vision impaired. Bucky had given it to him as a joke, but hadn't thought he would keep it. Almost six months later, he'd ambushed Steve, taking him shopping for what he called a "better" phone. The new one is small, rectangular, just a flat surface with a single button, its contents accessed through touch screen.

"Call me old fashioned," he murmurs to himself, "but I think I liked it better when phones still had buttons." He searches for a scroll bar for a second before remembering he can swipe his thumb across the screen. Google can't tell him anything about finding the caller without a number or ID, and he can't seem to pull it up on his own. It frustrates him to no end, in all honesty.

Steve sighs, switching the phone off of silent and dropping it onto the couch next to him before picking up the newspaper. If he can't figure out his phone now, he might as well take a break and cool his head before he gets too worked up over it. He only gets two articles in before his phone starts ringing. It takes him a second to realize, drawn into what he's reading, but he manages to scoop it up and answer before it goes to voicemail. The man starts talking almost immediately.

"I get it, okay? You win. Don't come back. I don't- I'm perfectly capable on my own, okay, just because I _prefer_ to let you handle things doesn't mean I _need_ you to-"

"Excuse me? Hi." Steve interrupts, and the line goes quiet. It surprises him, pulling the phone away for a second from his ear to make sure the guy didn't hang up.

"Who is this?" When he comes back, the voice is suspicious, demanding. "What've you done to Pepper? If you've hurt her, I swear to I will come down on you like-"

Steve has to roll his eyes, interrupting him again with, "Yeah, interesting note about that: _there's no one named Pepper here_. You've got the wrong number." A pause, unable to resist a little chuckle as he shakes his head. "You've had the wrong number for a while, actually, I just kept missing the call to tell you." And then, awkwardly: "Sorry about that."

Silence again, though if he listens hard enough Steve thinks he might be able to hear machines in the background. "Huh. Is that right."

It's the only thing he says before hanging up, so abruptly that Steve keeps the phone to his ear for a few more seconds before he realizes. He stares at the screen, the little message that tells him that the call lasted for two minutes and thirty-six seconds. Two and a half minutes. He's not sure why it stuns him, but it does. It's not that big a deal, he figures, idly deleting the "Drunk Dialer" contact; now that he's finally told him that he had the wrong number, it's just another short, strange chapter of Steve's life closed. Strangely, he feels almost...sad about it.

He pulls up Bucky's number, taps the icon to send him a text message. Just something brief, telling him that he finally got the caller to stop. The reply comes back almost immediately, congratulating him for derailing the guy and getting him off both his and the lady's backs. Steve just laughs, shakes his head. Just doing my civic duty. is the response, and then he picks himself up and shuffles off to bed.

\---

The ringing startles him out of a particularly strange dream, eyes opening to a dark room and the glow of his phone on the nightstand beside him. His alarm clock reads 1:23 in the morning, flashing at him in red numbers as he remembers where he is. In the time it takes for him to remember there are no aliens crashing Manhattan, the phone goes to voicemail and then starts ringing again. Steve groans quietly, pressing his face into the pillow as he answers.

"Hey. Rise and shine, buttercup. Open the door."

It's Steve's turn to pause this time as the voice registers in his head. "I'm sorry, what? Who is this?" Why is the drunk dialer calling him again?

"C'mon, open up. I'm outside. Chop-chop, I don't have all day. Night. Whatever."

The line clicks off then, and Steve pulls the phone away to stare at it. What? What was that? _I'm outside_? There's no way. He rolls out of bed, phone in hand as he shuffles through the apartment. It's a strange sort of electricity buzzing through him, unsure what to think. Is he really getting out of bed at half past one in the morning? To open the door for a _complete stranger_?

He gets his answer as he peers through the peephole. A guy with dark hair, sunglasses, and facial hair stands outside the door, phone in hand. Steve watches him for a minute as he raises it to his ear, and not a second later, his own starts ringing. The man on the other side of the door looks toward him, leaning in as he hangs up. "I know you're there. I can hear your ringtone. Cute. Old-timey. C'mon, let me in. Promise I won't eat grandma, Red."

It's the Little Red Riding Hood jab that gets Steve, and he murmurs a quiet _What am I doing?_ before he unlocks the door and lets the man in. He strides through the doorway, a few inches shorter than Steve and wearing a blazer over an Iron Maiden T-shirt. Compared to Steve's pajama pants and tank, he feels a little bit underdressed, despite the hour. "Are you honestly wearing sunglasses in the middle of the night?"

"Blues Brothers did it. Why shouldn't I?" Just a pause before he swings around to look at Steve. "Besides, really? Complete stranger shows up at your apartment at some ungodly hour in the morning, and not only do you let him in without suspicion, you challenge his fashion choices? Gotta question your priorities, there." He's not wrong and he knows it, striding into the living room to make himself comfortable on the couch. There's a flick of his wrist as he gestures to him. "Bedhead. Cute. Like people actually sleep at this hour, what are you, like ninety?"

It finally dawns on him that not only is the entire situation strange and getting stranger, but he's losing control of it, in his own apartment. So Steve follows him, wide awake and fully sobered now as he stands in front of him. "Yeah, sorry, _who are you again_? I don't think I caught your name."

"Didn't give it." The man takes off his sunglasses, tucking them into the pocket of his blazer. Steve freezes, suddenly recalling the sketches he'd done when he had no idea what the guy looked like. Sketches that happened to be in the sketchbook sitting on the coffee table. There's a silent prayer that his guest doesn't poke around, but he still can't help comparing the two: the real deal's eyelashes are darker; longer, fine lines starting around his eyes. Never pictured the facial hair. Admittedly, he's pretty attractive. His guest frowns, cocking his head. "Alright, the staring's a little weird. Anyway. Tony Stark. You might have heard of me, or at least my company. We make...well. Everything. Bet you've got at least five of our products in here."

Steve jumps when he's called out on the staring, averting his eyes, but the name does ring a bell. "Oh, right. That's the company that did a complete 180 from making military weapons and started going a more civilian path, isn't it? I read about that in the paper." And there's a pause. "Wait, _your_ company?"

"Yep."

Tony grins, settling back into the cushions and obviously enjoying it. Expecting awe, probably. Steve crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall and frowning. "I'm not really sure how you can be proud of that. Those weapons have hurt a lot of people."

His eyes narrow, looking Steve over for just a second. "Lemme guess. Military? Or ex-military, judging from how cozy your little apartment is. I guarantee, if you served overseas, you've used my weapons. Maybe I'm not proud of how many people they've killed, but I _am_ proud of how many they've also protected. I'm willing to bet you're among that number, army boy. Still, we're trying to make up for it, hence the domestic ventures. I don't really think I need to explain myself any more than that."

He's quiet as Tony speaks, surprised by the sudden defensiveness. Maybe he really _is_ upset by the harm his creations caused. Steve can't fault him for that, he supposes, so he relaxes just a little bit. Tony's demeanor is still standoffish, pulling out his phone and scrolling through it as he scowls. He's almost like...a giant child, Steve thinks. The sight of the phone brings to mind something more important than that, though, and he pulls out his own as he speaks up.

"Hey."

"Mhm, yes dear?" It's dismissive, the way Tony doesn't look up from the screen, simply raising his eyebrows.

Steve frowns, reaching out to shut the phone off. "What are you doing here, anyway? How'd you get my phone number?" And a pause. "And- how did you know where I live?"

Tony sits back, rolling his eyes at him. "White pages. Duh. You've got a phone number. Just had to look it up. The better question is: how did you get Pepper's phone? Or, number. Whichever. Actually, just let me see that." He reaches forward to snatch Steve's phone, navigating with ease to pull up his call logs and voicemails as he ignores the protest. "Well, at least it's good to know blocking my ID works," he murmurs as his gaze flickers between both phones.

"For the record," Steve starts as he grabs his phone back. "That's the number I've always had. I'm not sure how you got it or who 'Pepper' is, but I can guarantee they're not here."

"She. _She_ 's not here," Tony corrects. He frowns at his screen before shaking his head. "And she left it in a note for me before up and vanishing. Really inconvenient. Actually kind of rude, too, I thought she was better than that."

A pause. "So you decided to get drunk and call the number your girlfriend a million times? Honestly, I don't know if that was really the best course of action." It's teasing, the hint of a grin on his face, but he's still a little serious about it. It's unnerving how the lost look on Tony's face is almost endearing. Still, there's something exhilarating about talking to him like this; despite the hour and the suddenness of it all, he can't help feeling a little excited to get to talk to the man on the other end of the line instead of listening to him ramble.

"Seemed like the best solution at the time. And, uh, just to be clear, not my girlfriend." He purses his lips as he thinks, waving a hand in the air. "Personal assistant. Technically. We're supposed to start talks to have her take over the company. She's been gone for almost a week now, it's weird."

It's at that moment that his phone decides to ring. Tony stares at the display before he answers it. "You've reached the personal phone of Tony Stark. I'm not home right now, please-"

"Tony, I know you're there." It's loud enough for Steve to hear, though he feels guilty for eavesdropping. The voice belongs to a woman, pretty and yet firm. Probably "Pepper". "Don't try to trick me; I set up your voicemail, remember?" She's amused as she says it, and then jumps straight into business. "I faxed over some documents for you to sign, did you see them? We need them first thing when I get back."

"Uh, yeah, that's kind of the problem." Tony frowns, pouting at the phone as he demands, "Where are you? Why wasn't your phone working? Kind of rude to, y'know, disappear? Like that."

There's a sigh on the other end of the line. "Tony..."

"No, no, it's fine, you're fired, I didn't even notice you were gone-"

"That's a lie." Steve speaks up, and the glare that Tony gives him is more than worth it.

"Tony? Who's that?"

"New assistant. Anyway, it's been nice chatting, see you. Well. Never."

He moves to hang up before Pepper interrupts with, "Tony, stop." He scowls, raises the phone to his ear again. "I told you I had a summit to attend. It'll last for one more week. I can't believe- No, wait, I _can_ believe you weren't listening, I know how you get when you find a new project. Listen, I'll be home next week, okay? I hope you can take care of yourself until then."

Tony just rolls his eyes, sullen as Pepper speaks. Steve twirls his phone in his hands, pretending not to listen and knowing that Tony knows he is. It's a little embarrassing, but he can't help that, just as he can't help wondering just how close they are, for being boss and assistant. Tony narrows his eyes at him just a little before going back to his call. "You still didn't tell me why your phone wasn't working."

"Tony, that was the number for my hotel room. Did you remember to add the area code?"

He's quiet, and if he looks closely, Steve thinks he might be able to see the understanding dawn on his face. He gets the feeling that Tony isn't the type of person to admit to it, though, and he grins down at his hands when his suspicions are justified.

"Sure. Of course I did. Don't be ridiculous. Anyway, it was nice talking to you, Pepper, have fun at your little summit. In fact, take an extra week. Everything's fine here. Peachy, even. Steve is making sure I don't die of boredom. Isn't that right?"

"What, hey-"

"Well, I'll make sure to thank Mr…. Steve... Properly when I get home. Have a good night, Tony. Get some sleep."

"Sure thing, _Mom_." The call ends, and both men end up staring at Tony's phone. "Personal assistant, psh. More like a personal nanny. She's- kind of a nag." It's the only response Tony gives before sitting up and drumming out a short rhythm on his knees. "Alright, get up. I've made up my mind. Go get dressed, let's go out."

Steve stares at him, incredulous. "Sorry, _what_? Go where?"

"Food. I'm thinking tacos. There's this great place in the West Village. Chop-chop, I'm starving. It's been…" Tony pauses. "A day and a half since I had some pizza. Let's go. My treat. You can tell me more about yourself, Steven."

"Just Steve is fine," he corrects as he stands. "Tony, you realize it's two in the morning, right? How do you know this taco place will be open?"

There's a responding shrug as he strides to the door. "I don't. If not, we can find one. C'mon, get dressed. We'll make it a date. Keep the bedhead though, I kind of like it. Meet downstairs in five."

The door shuts behind him with a quiet click, but it seems to shake the entire apartment as silence filters back into the room. Steve almost feels dazed, staring at the door for a second before he snaps out of it. He frowns as he moves, walking back into his bedroom to put on some jeans and whatever T-shirt he can find. Is he seriously doing this? Is he really going to get tacos with a guy he just met? Who showed up at his apartment at two in the morning? The answer's apparent as he grabs his keys, and he shuts the door softly behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> ADDENDUM GUYS I'VE FIGURED IT OUT THE BROFORCE ARE POLICE and Natasha works in a different district. I've tried to modify as appropriate while still changing as little as possible, I realize how irresponsible this is but tHERE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE A SEQUEL OKAY, I CAN'T HELP THAT I ONLY JUST FIGURED IT OUT WHILE WRITING PART TWO SOBS BROKENLY INTO HANDS....


End file.
